I'd like to say a prayer and drink to world peace.

As usual today's post is for Glen who I very much miss. I wish you were here to observe another Groundhog Day with me. Celebrating this holiday has never been as much fun without you, but I guess I'll just have to manage. Next year we should rendezvous in Punxsutawney.

Well I'd love to stay here and talk with you, but I'm not going to. I love you cousin, happy Groundhog Day!

Car Registration

California wanted almost $500 to register my car this year, so I decided to register it in Utah instead. Besides, I thought I might be moving back there soon. I got the registration switched to Utah over Christmas, but naturally I haven't changed the plates yet. I still have another month or so before they can impound it again, so no rush.

Patty and I decided to go to the LA temple early Saturday morning. I volunteered to spend Friday night in Rossmoor, and I decided it would be a good idea to get ready for bed before I drove over to the house around midnight Friday night. I didn't anticipate getting pulled over in my pajamas for expired registration, but it happened.

The whole drive was uneventful, right until I pulled up in front of the Bostonian, and the cop car who had been kind of tailgating me down the street pulled up behind me with his lights flashing. He came over and asked me to show him my driver's license and registration, at which point I was forced to lie to him and tell him that I have moved to Utah and have therefore registered my car in another state. I told him that I was just in Rossmoor visiting friends. I justify that lie by telling myself that I did move to Utah this summer, and I was just visiting friends. Unfortunately I couldn't find the Utah registration. I had a bunch of stuff in my car so I was sifting through old homework assignments on the seat next to me. Then I moved along to the glove compartment and started pulling out a bunch of receipts from oil changes and car maintenance stuff. Over the next 15 minutes I did manage to find three different expired California registrations. By then the cop was looking very annoyed, and told me that "maybe we can just start with the driver's license." I have an expired one of those too that I was able to produce first before I got the right one. There is no doubt in my mind that the cop thinks I'm an idiot. I did finally find the Utah plates in the backseat of the car. He asked me why I hadn't put them on yet and I told him I didn't have the tools to do it. I was laboring under the impression that it required some sort of special tool, although I've now been corrected on that point. The cop just told me to put the plates on right away and hustled back to his car. He's sorry that he stopped me, I'm sure of it.

I found the registration right after he drove away.

Rejected

My first rejection letter from BYU arrived today via email. I've been expecting it, and although I was a little surprised, and perhaps slightly insulted that they responded so quickly I wasn't at all upset about it. I still did spend a fair amount of time trying to determine whether I had already just come to terms with the idea, or if I was just was shocked and therefore too numb to feel all distraught about it. I sat there and stared at the email for what felt like a very long time before I decided that continuing to look at it wasn't making me feel more upset, and I was in fact mostly just daydreaming about unrelated things. So I closed it out and went about my business. I mentioned the letters to a few people and weirdly some of them seemed genuinely disappointed that I wasn't prepared to put on some sort of dramatic emotional display. Maybe I'm just building up to it, you know saving up a bunch of disappointment and frustration so that when the last of the rejection letters arrive I can then emotionally unload on the first poor soul who has the misfortune of asking me what's new in my life. I don't think so, but that still might be something you'll want to take into consideration next time you see me and feel tempted to strike up a conversation.

The PBR

How can you not be excited about a competition that starts off with a pile of dirt suddenly bursting into flames to spell out an acronym?

Patty invited me to go with her and some other people this Friday to watch the PBR. That's Professional Bull Riders, and that's all she had to say to get me to clear my Friday night. Any event that allows me the opportunity to wear my big belt buckle and cowboy boots is an event I want to attend. Any event that brings out the white trash element in Orange County is an event I want to at least consider attending. That's how I found myself sitting in the Pond last night wondering where a person would even go to purchase a cowboy hat in this county. I still don't know, but plenty of other people there seemed to have figured it out.

The PBR did not disappoint. It was fantastic, and the only letdown is that it's sort of short. Although the guys only ride the bull for 8 seconds, so that does kind of make sense. Patty and I discovered that at first we were all about following the rider's, but it did not take us very long to adjust our focus to the bulls. It's pretty spectacular watching a huge animal like that writhing around and contorting itself every which way. We were kind of partial to the bulls that got so miffed that they would dismount their rider, ignore the exit gate, and race around the arena trying to gore somebody. It makes me want to never come in close proximity to one of those animals, and question the sanity of the riders. Whether or not they're crazy, it's really solid entertainment.

Prayers

Do people ever thank you for praying for them, when in reality their problems aren't even being taken into consideration while you're praying? It happens to me from time to time, not often, but every now and again someone will say something to me like "thank you so much for your thoughts and prayers, it means a lot," while I privately think to myself "interesting...until now it hasn't even occurred to me to pray for you." Of course I actually respond to them by saying something like "Oh, not a problem. I just really hope things get better..." That's right, I roll with it. I'm not going to admit to them that I haven't been concerning myself with their problems. That probably makes me a selfish person, but perhaps this is just a way for people to attempt to solicit prayers in their own behalf without actually coming right out and requesting them? Then again I guess there's always that possibility that they just sincerely believe that I am far more aware and considerate of their hardships than my actual prayers would indicate.

California Women

I wound up at some unemployment office in Long Beach a few days ago. It's kind of a long story how that happened, but not particularly interesting. Suffice it to say that it is directly related to the fact that I'm unemployed.

So there I was in a long line with a lot of people who are the sort you'd expect to see at the DMV. I couldn't help but notice that the guy behind me in line kept creeping closer and closer. I think it's particularly annoying when I'm standing in line with the person behind me practically plastered up against my back. Some of my cousins and I have discussed this, because it happens a lot at Disneyland. One of my cousins like to lean backwards until she's all but leaning on the person behind her. Another cousin likes to let the line in front move ahead while she holds things up and lets the person behind her go crazy with anxiety. My tactic is to turn around and face the person. It usually makes the person violating my space very uncomfortable and they take a step back. If not, I just inch a little closer, eventually they will retreat.

Anyway, I turned to face this guy behind me at the unemployment office, and predictably he looked really embarrassed and took a step backwards, but immediately apologized and told me he was trying to see my watch. From there we started chatting. He told me he had been "laid off" from his job as a security officer. His employer told him they were going to let him go because they felt he was overbearing, and then leaned forward and all but shouted at me "I am not overbearing, that's ridiculous! They'll just say anything to get rid of you these days!" It took everything I had to keep a straight face and appear sympathetic. He told me all about his life. He's from Compton, he's been married for 30 years, but is having serious marital problems that have been exacerbated by his recent unemployment. It's his second marriage. His first was when he was 18 and lasted 4 months. He has 3 kids. Two daughters and a son. The son is a drug addict. The older daughter has a son with severe respiratory problems. His parents live in Vegas, his wife's parents live in Mississippi...etc. I mean, I got the whole story. When he finally ran out of personal material to divulge he leaned over and actually thanked me for listening and for "not being stuck up like all the other white women in California." What's wrong with all you other white women that don't want to hear these stories?

MY EYES!!!

My little niece is super cute, and super fat. She has a problem with overeating, and therefore a not so unusual tendency to spit up a lot right after she has been nursed. I am well aware of this, so I have no one to blame but myself for what happened this evening. I just should have been more cautious.

Sarah was getting ready to leave to go to dinner with some friends and so she fed Winnie, and had her settled into her swing, looking cute and happy. She mentioned that Winnie had eaten a lot and was really full, but stupidly I still asked if I could hold her for a bit. I was bouncing her around on my lap, and nothing happened so I kind of forgot about Sarah telling me she'd just finished a big meal. She likes to be kind of tossed in the air a bit, so I tossed her up a few times and she was all smiles so I did it again. This time she barfed just as she was landing back in my hands and I was looking up at her. She didn't just spit up a little either, that little girl unloaded right in my face. I wasn't able to see anything because she barfed in my eyes, but I heard Sarah and Jared sitting across the room saying things like "Oh GROSS!! It's everywhere!!" They were sort of laughing too though, and who can blame them? I was less amused. I used the diaper wipe Sarah shoved in my hand to get my eyes cleaned up enough that I could open them again, and the first thing I saw was little Winnie laying there in my lap with a huge grin on her face like it was the best thing that had happened to her all day.